Hello, Arthur
by SisterofTurin
Summary: Following the attack on Camelot, Arthur seeks out Agravaine and the Southron army. Alone, he enters the tunnels at the Forest of Ascetir. Torch in hand, he follows six pairs of tracks in the darkness. It was too late when he realised what that meant. Dark oneshot and revelation, AU, post the series 4 finale.


Hello, Arthur

His knights continued to search the Forest of Ascetir to his back, but Arthur raised the torch in front of him, the cave flickering slightly in a red glow. He was at the exit, and the only tracks leading out from the tunnel were his and his companions', and those of the soldiers who had followed them into the tunnel should have been obvious. The only conclusion was that they had never left. That begged the question: where did a whole army disappear to? They had been following Arthur, and would not have simply abandoned their search after being misled in the cave system. The only answer was that there must be another exit somewhere inside the tunnels. Merlin claimed there wasn't, but he had forgotten the way through almost directly after the entrance. It was not hard to imagine that the idiot had missed or forgotten some passage, and Agravaine's army had stumbled upon it by mistake. Perhaps, it would have made more sense to have brought Merlin with him, but he was apparently needed at Camelot, tending to the wounded following Morgana's rampage, even if Arthur doubted Merlin's usefulness. As for the uninjured citizens who had fled, the woods were hardly safe and food and water wasn't ample. Arthur made a note in his head to tell Gaius to check them for any water-borne diseases. Merlin could dispense nourishment out to them, and he'd do more harm than good. Hopefully.

It was comparatively easy to follow the tracks through the cave system. The ground was dusty rather than rocky, and its long disuse had meant that their passage had left more than enough tracks. Even without that, since there was no possibility of his catching up with the group, he had the time to examine the trail closely, instead on mostly relying on anticipated movements like he would when tracking a deer or boar. There weren't even any dry twigs or rustling grass that he had to avoid. It was simple, really. There was no need to call the others, they could disturb the ground or interrupt his concentration. He'd call them after he'd found the secret exit, prove that he was worthy. Even his trusted knights faces' seemed to flower at the sight of him after he pulled the sword from the stone, and it was such a small act. Yes, he'd defeated Morgana, but she was still alive, and so were Agravaine and his army. Why did everyone suddenly start treating him so differently? Merlin, now Merlin was the worst. What had happened to the old days when they had exchanged insults and Arthur could throw a goblet at his mug whenever he invariably dropped something, or tripped, or just looked impertinent. But then, there were still occasionally the moments of quietness, or trust, when Merlin had looked into his eyes and had faith in him. They were rare, one-offs really, but now Merlin was treating him like some kind of Messiah.

Honestly… He already had to care for his knights, the city, Camelot, all his people - did he really need to carry Merlin's complete and utter faith as well? Never be able to make a mistake or lose a fight? In reality he knew he couldn't, that was out of the question, he was the King, but it just felt like he'd lost the one true friend who'd valued him himself over his title. It had been sickening to see the look of panic on Merlin's face when Arthur informed him he would be going to search for Agravaine, and that Merlin would have to stay with Gaius to look after his exponentially increasing patients. Was Merlin really so dependent on his royal King that he couldn't be parted from him for a week? His eyes had been filled with tears, and terror, actual terror at the thought of being away from Arthur. For goodness' sake, he wasn't a god! Arthur wondered whether Merlin would go back to being the impertinent idiot if he threw a rock at him.

There weren't any rocks lying about here. Few stalactites or stalagmites, and the floor was even and smooth. The people who had carved out these tunnels, it didn't make sense. The work must have taken days, weeks - why create a tunnel system connecting a forest and a small farming village? Unless there had been vital settlements here in the distant past, but there tunnels looked hewn relatively recently. It was a highly insufficient use of resources, dozens of men sweating away underground with iron tools that would have been too precious to blunt on a tunnel to and from nowhere. That is, if tools were used. It dawned on Arthur that it probably wasn't normal men who had made the tunnels. He suppressed a shiver. Now he understood why the tunnels weren't on any of his maps of Essetir.

Arthur was just wondering what even sorcerers would want with a tunnel from a insignificant hamlet, when the tracks changed. There were prints turning and pacing in the other direction - his footsteps, following Merlin. Casting other thoughts from his mind, he followed them, and about fifteen strides later he found his own trailed off, and headed back towards the forest with another set, but Arthur ignored those. He was close, the entrance wasn't too far away. And, yes, here were Merlin's original ones turning and running round that corner, and a memory of 'Hello there!' echoing against the rock. He had found the soldiers' prints now, five of them. Merlin's feet fleeing. Finally, he was actually getting close to finding the exit the soldiers' had used. Six tracks leading around the corner. Six. Arthur didn't think about that, not then. He just followed, running behind them, they were so easy, so simple to follow, six tracks now turning left, now turning right, around this corner -

Cadavers. On the ground. Southrons - and Agravaine. Dead, his eyes wide open staring past the enclosing rocky ceiling into an open sky, unseeing, dead. Five of them. All fanned out like half a shield rim from a single point back against the rocky wall. Sorcery. There had been a sorcerer here. Five men, just down. It was a dead end, but it seemed to be shrinking, walls encroaching, roof shrinking, flattening him with the corpses. Dead end! The torch clattered on the floor. Arthur turned and ran, just ran, sprinting out and towards the entrance, remembering the way in panic when he hadn't before. He just had to run towards, the sunlight and away from the bodies and into the green forest. He didn't notice the scorched cave mouth.

At first there was sunlight. He took a breath, inhaling the air, opening his eyes to see the sky a black field still pockmarked with embers. He realised part of the significance of six. There had only been six pairs of prints. Bodies were everywhere. Rotten, burning flesh, blackened armour. He wasn't able to run this time. He just stared, eyes wide like Agravaine's. He was dead, the army was dead. How?

How, how, how! It didn't make any sense - no sorcerer was this powerful. There were hundreds. God. God, god, god help him. A moment passed, and he realised that despite the glowing plain, the battle must have long passed. The sorcerer had gone, chasing after the survivors in the tunnels, and then reaching out, they had flown from him in a fan around him - but the picture didn't fit - he would have been behind, not ahead, backed up against the dead end. Why had they chased? Why had he not chased them? The sorcerer, revelling in destruction, powerful enough to devastate the plain, hadn't caught up with his group. The sorcerer must have been an enemy of Southrons, planned the incursion after they had wronged him, he had wanted revenge, and got it with blood and fire, and god he could still smell the smoke, and the flesh. He had to warn his men, in case that a sorcerer this powerful existed, and would likely attack Camelot, just waiting to create more carnage. He turned, slowly, to head back through the tunnels, not looking down the left turn. He must warn his men not that he'd found an army but something far more dangerous. Breathe, Arthur. He was not permitted to panic. He was the king.

There was the sorcerer. Black was his cloak and it shadowed his face. His skin was pale. He leant against the cave mouth, just watching him. Waiting. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, but he was breathing, too heavily, he could hear it, panicking, panic filled him up like a trough in a rainstorm, drowning, and he couldn't, couldn't, gasping. The sorcerer didn't move. Why didn't he move? Why didn't he just raise his hand and knock the life out of him, like the plain of smoke behind him, those five corpses at the dead end.

The sorcerer took a step forward. Towards him. The cloak trailed against the ground. Arthur found himself staring at the print left behind in the sod and ashes. Minutes, aeons ago, he had been following those steps, thinking they were just a Southron's. The five Southrons and the Sorcerer. He had been just tracking, following six pairs of prints. Now he was to die. He was glad he had left his knights and Merlin behind. Five bodies, Merlin and the sorcerer. Drips, of panic started to fill him, as he started to realise - no. No, no, no, no. Six. It didn't make sense. Six. He didn't understand, didn't understand what he realised. Arthur knew something was wrong, but didn't understand why. He had to run, get away, away before he died, but he couldn't -

The sorcerer took another step forward. Arthur couldn't run. If he ran, he would die. The sorcerer raised his hands. He saw Agravaine falling, head cracking on the rock. Arthur couldn't close his eyes. Panic drowned him, but he breathed, he was the King, he was to die with honour. He was the King. Better to die and be remembered than to live a life of mediocrity. Still, as he stood, facing the wind and a dark cave mouth, smoke from a hundred bodies sliding against his back. His heart beat like a rabbit's in his head. He knew the sorcerer could hear it. Let him hear, he who would not even show his face as he slaughtered. Arthur raised his chin slowly, as his heart beat like a rainstorm.

The sorcerer took another step forward. With a deliberate, guarded movement his hands continued up. The fingers curved out, so, so, slowly and took down the shadowing hood. They stared at him, calm, watching, the eyes, that had been red rimmed and panicked yesterday.

The sorcerer took another step forward.

'Hello, Arthur.' said Merlin.


End file.
